Page 149 of Devil’s Disciples

“Guess I’ll have six weeks of peace.”

“God damn it.” He glared at me. “His fucking jaw is broken, Cash.”

“That’s what you said a minute ago. I heard you, Bake. His jaw’s broken. Fractured is what you said. Two places. Six weeks to heal. Nose broken. Yep. heard it all.”

“You stubborn prick.” He sat down. “You don’t regret it at all, do you?”

“Nope. I’d bust him in the jaw again if he did the same shit.”

“Because he was sniffing around the blowjob queen’s house?”

“Because he doesn’t know when to keep his fucking mouth shut. He was talking shit about how he needed to be the muscle for the club. Little cock sucker said the position should go to the toughest man in the club, and that you gave the job to the wrong man. He was showing off for the ladies.” I rubbed the knuckles of my right hand. “So, I shut him down.”

“Goose said you were pissed off because--”

“I don’t give a fuck what Goose said,” I snapped back. “This has been brewing for a long time, and you know it.”

“This wasn’t about who’s the toughest, and we both know it.” His eyes shifted to the far side of the room. A few seconds later, he met my gaze. “You need to forget that little twat. We were in high school, Cash.”

“Right’s right, and wrong’s wrong. I don’t give a fuck how old we were. He was wrong, and he’s never admitted it.”

“She was a whore.”

“It doesn’t matter if she offered him the pussy on a silver platter,” I growled.

“There’s no rule against--”

“You might not post rules up on the clubhouse walls, but we all know what we can and can’t do. We don’t fuck with a gal that one of the other fellas is fucking with. Everyone knows it.” I leaned forward and locked eyes with him. “This is the second time. Next time, I might just cut his throat.”

He shook his head. “Goose said he wasn’t even fucking with your girl. He was dicking with the chick across the--”

“She isn’t my girl, Bake. She’s some chick that sucked my cock. Add her to the list of two hundred other motherfuckers that’ve had my cock in their mouth. It ain’t about that.”

“Well, it sure as fuck wasn’t about which one of you two is the toughest.”

My eyes thinned. “Why do you say that? You think that little prick’s tougher than me?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“I didn’t say you said it.” I hardened my stare. “I asked you a fuckin’ question.”

“We’ve all got our strengths, Cash.”

“Yep. His is hacking into computers, and mine is kicking motherfucker’s asses.” I arched an eyebrow. “Who’s the toughest?”

“I’d say the two most capable fist-fighters in the club are you and Tito,” he responded. “No doubt.”

“Okay.” I relaxed into my chair and crossed my arms. “Which one’s tougher?”

He rolled his eyes and then looked right at me. “You.”

“Are you saying that because you think I am, or because you think it’s what I want to hear?”

“Because it’s the truth.”

I stood. “Good. Then you can repeat that statement in front of that broken-jawed motherfucker in Wednesday’s meeting. You know, when he brings in the beer for losing that race.”

“I wasn’t done,” he hissed. “Where the fuck are you going?”